As Dr Evil said to his son: “You just don’t get it, do ya?” Irony, never mind post-irony, is lost on many people. Indeed, humour’s lost on many people. Mostly the people who seem to spend an awful lot of time on line. Perhaps swotting up on the proper uses of apostrophes would be a start on the path to a less tortured existence.
Alexander and I went to the Boldon Lad to see a band called Tadpole Pie. They played all the right notes in all the right places. Just rock covers, mind. And I’m sorry about the shite links, but that’s what got googled.
Back home, and dotting about in cyberspace, Alex steered me in the direction of John Frusciante, who, he says, is a bigger influence than Tom – and that’s saying something. I’ve never been into RHCP myself, but that’s for no particular reason. So he’s pointed me that way, and I’ve pointed him Tom’s way, and sometimes it’s great being a dad.
AND I took a picture of a heron in Jarra today. What larks, eh?